


Poison

by Joyful



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Community: glee_angst_meme, F/M, Food Issues, Gen, Homosexuality, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyful/pseuds/Joyful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine's invited to his first Friday Night Dinner at the Hudson-Hummel's.  He's never told Kurt the specifics of his OCD, so when he doesn't eat Carole's casserole Kurt's family interprets it as him being snobby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on the angst meme: http://community.livejournal.com/glee_angst_meme/7446.html?thread=9678358#t9678358  
> I have this tic, personally, which is why the prompt spoke to me. I get so specific into food fear, it's possible that this could trigger somebody.

Blaine was doing pretty well. He'd taken his meds, done his homework, and was getting ready to go to his first Friday Night Dinner at Kurt's house as Kurt's official boyfriend. His anxiety was a little elevated, going into an unfamiliar social situation where eating food that he didn't prepare himself was expected of him, so just in case he had some Ativan in his wallet. Just in case. But this was Kurt, and Kurt's family, and Kurt's step-brother's current girlfriend, and Blaine had met them all before, so he kept trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay. He knew how particular Kurt was about healthy food, so Blaine was certain there would be something he could eat. Even if he was going to be eating in front of people. Blaine swallowed, and tried not to think about it. It was only five people, not a huge cafeteria full. Just five people. Everything would be okay. He pulled his car into the driveway, got out, and rang the doorbell. Finn answered.

“Hey, Dude,” Finn said, “Come on in, you're just on time. Hey Kurt, Blaine's here.”

Kurt emerged as Blaine was taking off his jacket. He took the jacket wordlessly and hung it up in the front closet. Blaine could hear Quinn talking to Carole in the dining room, and Finn quickly joined them, leaving Kurt and Blaine alone in the front alcove.

“Hey,” Kurt said softly.

“Hey,” Blaine said. He leaned forward and caught Kurt in a quick kiss.

“You okay? You look a little out of sorts,” Kurt observed.

“I'm a little nervous,” Blaine admitted. “Social dining kinda freaks me out.”

“It's just my family, and Quinn,” Kurt said. “Don't worry about it.”

All Blaine could do was worried about it. He'd mentioned to Kurt, once, that he was on medication for OCD, back before they were dating, but Kurt didn't pry, and Blaine hadn't given him any of the details. But Blaine was stronger than the disease, he knew that. He could, he _would_ make it through the evening without freaking out. This was _Kurt's_ family, he _had_ to make a good impression on them.

“Blaine, sit here,” Quinn directed as he walked into the dining room. She pointed at the seat kitty-corner from her and next to Kurt, with Finn next to Quinn and Burt and Carole at opposite ends of the table. This was good, there was one more male than female, but the table was as balanced as it could be considering the combination of people. The adults at either and the the teenage couples across from each other. This was good, he could sit at this table, it was balanced. There was a bowl of salad on top of the plate in front of him, but it wasn't dressed.

“Sit down,” Burt gestured, and Blaine did.

“Would you like some salad dressing, Blaine?” Carole asked, “We have Ranch, Thousand Island, creamy bleu cheese, and oil and vinegar.”

“No dressing please,” Blaine said quickly, instinctively putting his hand above the bowl, in case somebody tried to drench his salad in one of those disgusting, oily messes. He watched Kurt pour a little oil and vinegar on his salad and felt his stomach flip-flop. He couldn't imagine eating anything drenched in slimy, greasy oil. What if some of the dressing got on his food by accident? Was his salad contaminated? What if the oil _touched_ his _skin_?

Blaine took a deep breath, and looked down at his salad. It was just mixed greens with some carrots, cherry tomatoes, and cucumbers. No shredded cheese, thankfully so he didn't have to worry about picking up every single piece. He quickly separated out the cucumber slices before their natural water got any of his salad wet. Luckily, they were cherry tomatoes, so he didn't have to worry about the angry open maw of a sliced tomato dripping it's juicy blood and tiny seeds onto his food. He pushed the cherry tomatoes aside. Slowly, while he concentrated,l he was able to separate all of the pieces of his salad into different sections of his bowl, and then he carefully went about eating the lettuce, they carrots, and the spinach. Then he ate the cucumbers he had separated out earlier, after putting a tiny bit of salt on them to dry them out a bit. When he was done, he looked up. He saw everyone staring at him curiously, and suddenly realized that he'd been so busy concentrating on eating his salad that he had missed something directed at him.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” he asked.

“I just asked you how school was going,” Burt repeated. “You were really paying attention to that salad, huh?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Sir,” Blaine said, blushing. “School is good. I'm a little sad that the competition season is over for the Warblers, but I still have the regular choir, and barbershop. As wells as orchestra, band and jazz band.”

“What instrument do you play, Blaine?” Carole asked, interested.

“I play the violin and the trumpet,” Blaine said. “I also play guitar, piano and ukulele.”

“That's a lot,” Quinn observed, watching him closely.

“I've always liked music,” Blaine said.

“Finn, will you clear the salad bowls, please,” Carole asked.

“It's Kurt's turn,” Finn complained.

“It is,” Kurt said, “I don't mind.” He stood and started clearing out the plates. Blaine looked at his empty place-mat and smiled, taking slow breaths. He'd made it through the first course. He could do it.

“Blaine, I hope you like tuna casserole,” Carole said, putting a plate in front of him.

The plate was heaped with a mound of what looked like cat vomit. Next to the chunky, mushy mess was a pile of oily, greasy mixed vegetables, all touching each other, and pressing into the lumpy gray mound. Everything was touching. There were baby carrots, broccoli pieces, cauliflower, squash, and green beans all piled up, poking each other, getting their vegetable essences all over each other. The vegetables were all coated in some sort of oil or melted butter, giving them a shimmering, snot-covered appearance. And the vegetables were _touching_ the casserole. Blaine looked at the casserole and thought he was going to cry. He could make out the shapes of egg noodles, peas, and mushroom pieces, and everything was coated in tuna and breadcrumbs. Oh dear God in Heaven, there was tuna on his plate. There was fish _on his plate_. He could smell the tuna.

Blaine felt a tingling in his fingertips and his cheeks. His hands were shaking and his stomach was churning. There was so much food on his plate, and it was all _touching_. There were greasy juices and oils seeping from the piled heaps of terrifying food, all intermingling on his plate. Blaine felt dizzy, and the food on his plate looked like it was swimming. It was swimming, of course. Swimming in grease and gravy or broth or whatever the goopy disgusting liquid oozing from the casserole was. Blaine sat there, for several minutes, while everyone around him ate, just staring at the food. Until he couldn't take it anymore.

“Excuse me, may I use the restroom?” Blaine asked.

“Of course,” Burt said.

Blaine stood up and quickly made his way toward the first-floor bathroom. He thought he might vomit. His hands felt greasy and contaminated, even though he knew he hadn't touched the food. He could feel the oil or butter or grease from everybody's plates all over him, all over his skin. He was contaminated. He closed the bathroom door, and sat down hard on the floor, trying to calm himself down.

“God, Kurt, I never knew your boyfriend was such a snob,” Finn said from the next room, and Blaine wanted to curl in on himself. He hated when people thought that of him.

“Blaine's not a snob,” Kurt protested.

“He picked at that salad like a bird, and when I put his dinner in front of him he looked like I'd given him a plate of mud or something,” Carole said, some obvious hurt in her voice.

Blaine dug his fingernails into his left arm, trying to steady himself. He'd offended Carole, with his stupid insanity. His boyfriend's stepmother thought he was a snob, because he was so scared of food. Blaine had the sudden desire to bang his head against the wall, hard, to punish himself. He shouldn't have lost it like that.

“I don't think that's it,” Quinn said. “Did you watch him eat his salad? He had to separate everything before he could manage to eat it. Kurt, have you ever thought that Blaine might have an eating disorder? Tasha Stanley used to arrange her plates like that before her mom made her go to that anorexia camp last summer.”

Of course she thought that, Blaine huffed. Working himself to his feet. He reached for the hand soap and started washing his hands, until he no longer felt greasy and contaminated. Then he splashed some water on his face, and reached for his wallet. He took out a half of an Ativan, and swallowed it, taking slow deep breaths, before he left the bathroom. He didn't want these people to think poorly of him. And as much as he hated admitting the truth, it was better they know that than think he was a snob, or anorexic.

“Hey,” Blaine said, walking back into the dining room. He put his hands on te back of his chair to steady himself, but also to keep the chair as a barrier between himself and the casserole. “I'm sorry for freaking out on you all.”

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, concern in his voice. Blaine looked at around at the judgmental faces staring at him.

“I started to have an anxiety attack,” Blaine admitted. “But I took one of my pills, and I'll calm down soon. I just think I need to tell you guys a little about me, so that you don't think I'm being rude.”

“You have anxiety attacks?” Carole asked, “Why?”

“Do you know what Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder is?” Blaine asked.

“It's when you're afraid of germs, like Miss P,” Finn said.

“Not exactly,” Blaine said, “Though that's a common variety. I have OCD. I have increased anxiety in relation to food, eating, and social dining. I have a compulsion that causes me to separate all my food, so that no two things are touching. I'm also phobic of certain foods. Casseroles scare me more than I can say. I'm sorry, Mrs. Hummel, if I offended you, but the idea of eating this is making my hands shake.” He held up one of his still quivering hands for her to see.

“You mentioned the OCD before,” Kurt said, “But you never brought it up again, so I didn't know it was so bad.”

“It's worse when I'm nervous,” Blaine said, sniffling slightly. Some tears had escaped earlier, and his nose was starting to run a little. “I wanted so badly to make a good impression on your family. But my crazy kind of took over. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a scene.”

“You s till look like you're torn between running and passing out,” Quinn said. “Maybe you should go sit in the living room? Away from the food?”

“She's not wrong,” Kurt agreed. He stood up and put his arm around Blaine, leading him to the living room where they both sat down on the couch. Blaine leaned against Kurt, resting his head on Kurt's chest, and Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine.

“I'm sorry I'm so fucked up,” Blaine said quietly, as he started to cry again. “I didn't want to cause a scene, I'm usually okay with stuff like this, but tuna casserole is the scariest food in the whole entire world.”

Kurt held Blaine, lightly stroking Blaine's curls. He didn't say anything, just held his boyfriend while he calmed down. Kurt might not have OCD, but he understood fear and anxiety. Kurt hummed “Blackbird” quietly and the two of them just sat there. Eventually, dinner would break up, the Hudson-Hummels would come into the living room, Carole would reassure Blaine that he hadn't hurt her feelings, and ask for a list of foods he liked for the future. Quinn would bring him a still-sealed package of rice cakes from his car for him to munch on, and Finn would apologize for being a big, judgmental doofus. But until then, Kurt just held Blaine, humming quietly while Blaine let the meds do their job. He was okay, he was safe. Kurt would keep him safe, and the contaminated food wasn't going to poison him.

*end*


End file.
